I'm No Hero
by Heath Wolff
Summary: AU How far would you go to escape destiny? Harry discovers that sometimes love is not enough and he has to pick and choose his battles. He chose not to be a hero and leave everything behind. Dark, Suicidal Tendencies, Slash


**Title:** I'm No Hero

**Author: _Heath Wolff_**

**Beta: **N/A

**Pairing(s): **HP/LV(TMR)

**Warning: **_Slash, Major OC, OOC, Foul Language(overuse of the word fuck) , AU_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Harry Potter and any other thing associated with it. The song _"Slip Out the Back" _belongs to Fort Minor and their head Mike Shinoda._

**A/N:** _Tom is human looking in this. Close to Harry's age. _

* * *

_He walked with a drunken sashay. He was no where near drunk though. No, he was bone-dry sober and yet his body moved with a certain slink that gave his enemies the appearance of him being shitfaced._

Hmm…hm…hm…hmmm…

_The chaotic hum caused whispers amongst the destruction. Like he was on a stroll, an easy, lazy stroll through…let's say a park. However, there was no park. No sunshine, no happiness. Just blood and gut retching screams, gurgled by the bile forced up from constricting esophagi._

Hm…hmm…hm…hm…hmmm…

_He knew he had the capacity to be dark. To be the epitome of utter evil. _

_So the crazed, nonchalant way he twirled his broken wand did not scare him. He was too far gone to care anymore. It felt elevating, letting his inhibitions about the dark go. Perhaps that was why he killed so easily. Throwing a curse, breaking a neck with his bare hands, stabbing someone…it was all so deliciously sinful._

_Backhanding some insignificant peon who fell to his knees, asking for mercy, he continued to his goal, his snake like swagger still in place._

"Such betrayal,"_ his goal hissed, a smirk on his rather human face. _"I never thought you of all people would be able to kill so…easily. No regret, no emotion…"

_The sickly dreamy smile he gave probably could have sent chills down the spines of even the most jaded. _"I did it for you, my love, all for you."

_Long, slender fingers soiled with the blood of the enemy, soothed across his pale cheek. Like the affection starved child he was, he instinctively leaned into the touch. It was not dirty to him, but instead very pleasurable._

"A foolish child you are," _his love tisked, suddenly grabbing his hair by the roots and wrenching his face upward to meet crimson colored eyes. _"Love will be your down fall, for I know nothing but darkness and hatred. Such a foolish child…"

_His own jade eyes looked directly at his love. His mouth quirked into another dreamy smile. He was to die now, but would it be so bad?_

"Crucio…"

_And with the hissed curse, he went down. However, he did not scream himself horse with the agony ripping through the flesh of his being. Nor did he feel himself lose the last semblances of sanity for he was already insane. _

_So instead of shattering his voice with harsh shrieks, he allowed crooning hums to pass his lips…_

Hm…hm…hmmmm…hmm…hmmm…hm…hmm…

_And there was no pain as the blinding flash of acid green ended his chaotic dream…_

* * *

"_Ah!_" Bright emerald eyes shot open as his torso flung itself up into a ninety degree angle. His naked chest gasped for breath and his hands trembled. 

"A nightmare…only a nightmare…" he whispered to himself before falling back onto the soft downy pillow. His whole body shuddered as the images of chaos and destruction flashed through his mind. It was such a horrid nightmare.

The Killing Curse. _Avada Kedavra._

Again he sat up in bed, his arms wrapping around his body protectively. A whimper escaped his lips. What was to happen now? That nightmare seemed all too real. Would he become that of which he saw in his dream? Could he kill for the one he loved? Even if it meant it would be in cold blood and practically for pleasure?

Perhaps... That was the thing, perhaps he would. As sick and twisted as it seemed. Still, he did not want to, but it could happen. Emotions tend to distort things. As well as obsession.

"No…" he murmured softly into the darkness of his and his lover's chambers. "I can't…"

Fluttering his eyes close, he curled into himself, letting out a dry, choked sob. "I won't…"

No, he would not become a murderer. Nor, would he become a monster. Not like what his lover was before. He would not become that of which he changed. At least… he hoped he changed.

"Mm…Love?" Startled, he uncurled slightly and turned his emerald eyes to meet dazed, sleepy crimson ones. It was endearing to see such gruesome a color groggy with sleep. They were not as scary now.

Blurrily, his lover lifted his head and squinted at him. "_Tempus_." It read 2:32 AM.

Grunting, his lover's flopped back into his own pillow and slung an alabaster arm around his waist, attempting to pull him in for a cuddle. A quirk of a smile found it way onto his lips. This was definitely endearing, so utterly human for someone who claimed to be so dark.

"Go back to…sleep…" his lover grumbled.

Sighing a bit wearily, he lied himself down and pressed into the warm body of his love. His cheek rubbed against the smooth, pale skin of his lover's chest and he knew his eyelashes were probably tickling the older man.

Why was this so hard? He loved him and he was confident his lover felt the same way. At least…

It gnawed at him.

What if he didn't feel the same way? Perhaps he _was_ a foolish child, thinking he could be loved by darkness.

Several moments passed and slender fingers brushed against his cheek. He involuntarily shuddered in pleasure and fear. He could still remember his nightmare where the same fingers smeared fresh, warm, human blood onto his face.

Biting back a sigh, he just accepted the loving gesture. Half the time, he was not so lucky to even receive such heartfelt action from the older man. Most of the time, his lover was cold and calculating, plotting his next move on the chess board of war.

Not that he knew his lover's plans. After all, they were on opposite ends of the chess board.

They were taboo lovers.

"I love you," he whispered into the chest of his older companion.

Silence reigned over their bedroom. Until his love spoke. "Ha—"

"Let's run away together!" He exclaimed as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. "There doesn't have to be a war or any prophetic destinies, just us!"

One may call it spur of the moment, but he saw it as reason.

"Nobody has to die, nobody has to murder," he breathed out, "Nobody has to become a monster from their beliefs."

Crimson eyes, now alert, gave him a calculating glance before averting. "I've accomplished too much to stop now, I have to rule."

"At what risk! Your life? Mine? Hundreds of innocents?"

"This is war."

"This is a testosterone, pissing contest!" he shrieked before taking a calming breath. "Please…let's just run away. Disperse your legion of followers, fuck, kill the fanatical ones if you must but please… I just want peace and a chance to love you without a war looming over our heads."

The bed shifted and the older man left the confines of their warm sheets. "No," he said firmly, "I have come too far. _Nothing_ will stop me from changing this wretched excuse of the wizarding world."

"You could just try politics…"

"Politics are corrupt; diplomacy is a waste of time. Killing is straight forward and to the point."

He shouldn't have been stunned to hear that come from his lover's mouth, but he was. "You must be joking…"

"Again, nothing will stop me. I will go through any obstacle to achieve my goals."

"Including me?" Crimson and emerald clashed. His lover's were icy and his were filled with tears. He knew the answer, but he prayed he was wrong.

"Yes, including you," his lover stated coldly. "Not even you would stop me."

Lowering his head, he allowed tears to drop onto the sheets of the bed. "You would kill me?"

"And you would not?"

"Of course not, I could never kill that one I love," he choked, letting out a despairing laugh. "I will not become a murderer just to stop you."

"You're so foolish," his lover chastised.

Those words stung.

Yes, he was foolish.

"Do you love me?" he questioned softly before snapping his head up and shouting, "Do you? DO YOU LOVE ME!"

He held in the heart-wrenching sobs that wanted to break free from his chest. Silent tears suffocated him as he awaited the answer.

"I do. I do love you."

"But not enough to stop what you're doing and leave…" He felt so tired now. Perhaps he had aged in these short moments of despair. He felt so much older.

"Do you love me enough to stay and rule by my side?" The older man gave him a longing look.

"It's not in my nature to kill or cause harm." Despite the fact he felt he could, he did have a certain amount of darkness in him.

"You would not have to."

He gave the other man a glare. "I also could not stand in the shadows and allow torture."

"You're too moralistic."

"And you're a megalomaniac."

They sat in silence after that. Neither one moved but their eyes watched the other warily. Soon he grew tired of their staring contest and he turned his eyes away and closed them.

He felt so…sad. They loved each other, but not enough. They were too set in their ways and too stubborn to give in to the other. But it was obvious, something had to give.

Suddenly the silence was broken by his lover. "We stand at a crossroad, you and I."

Tears once again welled in his eyes.

"No," he said sadly, standing from the bed to gather his clothes, "We stand at the end. Perhaps this is goodbye…"

A hand whipped out to grasp his bicep harshly. "This is _not_ goodbye, I won't let it be." Crimson eyes were filled with some sort of panic and desperation now. However, he was too worn-out.

Laughing mirthlessly, he pulled away. "Yes, yes it is. I'm the supposed hero and you are the definite villain. We were not meant to last. We are taboo."

"But we could accomplish so much together."

"I don't want anymore blood on my hands." Slipping on his school robe, he gave his former lover one last glance. "Goodbye… Tom…"

With that he walked away. The muscles in his back tense, just waiting for the sick glow of acid green to surround his essence and rip his life away. However it never came and he left his heart behind.

Too bad he never heard Tom murmur one last harsh promise. "This isn't over. This isn't goodbye Harry."

* * *

"You're earlier than expected." 

The voice startled him so badly; he let out a hex before he would think. Harry, just exiting the Whomping Willow never expected someone to be at the secret entrance this time of morning.

"Hello," the stranger chuckled, "No need to try and kill me."

"Who?"

"Oh, you know exactly who I am," the stranger said before grabbing his arm and dragging him into a dark alcove on the school's ground.

Now stationed and calm, Harry got a good look at his stalker. Gold eyes glowed in the sunrise. For a moment Harry thought he was in the company of a werewolf, but then he remembered.

It was the damnable transfer student from America. Said student was male, mocha skinned, with long, black, curly hair that occasionally shone with a reddish tint. He was tall and lithe, walked with a distinct swagger and always had a smirk on his face.

Worst of all, he was a Slytherin.

And not just any old, pureblood Slytherin with an attitude problem. He was the smart, calculating Slytherin who could talk his way out of any situation with a dry—but subtle—sense of humor.

The boy had a legion of followers at his beck and call and was friends with nearly everyone, despite his house. He was too charming, too confident, and too arrogant. And he was a half-blood, like himself and so many others.

Harry was sure he could be a dark lord of he tried and he knew a lot about suave dark lords.

"You've been crying," the other boy said lightly, no hint of concern, just an observation.

"I'm glad you felt the need to point out that fact. I'm sure the puffy eyes didn't give me away. Was it the tear-stained cheeks perhaps?" Harry snapped. He just wanted to go to bed and die in his sleep. Was that too much to ask?

"You and your boy-toy finally hit the end?"

He snapped his eyes right into gold. "How the fuck do you know that?"

"Never knew the Golden Boy to use profanity," he smirked.

"Fuck you, you bastard," Harry snarled before turning to leave.

"Your boy is going to attack at the Leaving Feast in three days. He's finally figured out a way past the wards." That stopped him right in his tracks.

Whipping around, Harry shoved the other boy into the mossy wall of the alcove. "How do you know that? Are you a spy?"

An amused scoff made it way into the other's voice. "Spy? I don't think so. If I was don't you think I would be telling your Headmaster's precious Order?"

"And why aren't you?"

"Because they don't need to know."

"People will die if you don't."

"They are not my concern. You however, are a different story."

Giving the Slytherin an incredulous look, Harry waited for him to continue. "Tsk. Let me ask you something Harry… Are you a hero? Answer me honestly now."

"No," he spat, "I am no hero."

"And if that wasn't said with enough angst and conviction, I don't know what would be," the Slytherin snorted with humor.

Impatient, Harry gave the other a heated glare. The sun was rising; they needed to get back inside Hogwarts. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Of course there is," the other reassured before asking, "Would you kill him if you had too?"

By _him_ he meant Tom. "No."

"Would you let him kill you?"

This was a cause for hesitation. Pondering his answer, Harry finally sighed, "No… I don't want to die."

"How far would you go to allow yourself self-preservation? Would be let someone else kill him, despite the fact _you're_ suppose to be the destined one? Or would you run? Leave this place behind and allow it to destroy itself because of its prejudices. The seven deadly sins corrupt your wizarding society.

"The _pride_ of the purebloods.

"The _greed_ of the Ministry of Magic and their stupid leader Fudge.

"The _wrath_ of a Dark Lord who never got a hug from his father and has issues with that.

"The _lust_ for more power and immortality of said Dark Lord.

"The _gluttony_ of the more fanatical followers, always wanting more blood.

"The _envy_ of the muggleborns, wanting to accomplish themselves but what they really want is the prestige of the purebloods.

"The _sloth_ of your Light Lord procrastinating in his job. Being too lazy to nip this problem at the bud."

All this sunk into Harry. Who was this boy?

"But don't take my word for it. After all, they are just words and you shouldn't believe everything you hear," the Slytherin said with a shrug. "But you really should follow your Slytherin instincts Harry."

What did this boy know? How much did he know?

"I'm well informed," he laughed, his answer vague.

Warily, Harry rested on the opposite side of the alcove. "Is there a point to all this?"

"You know, you're not the only hero with a prophetic destiny."

"What?" This actually surprised him, what did the Slytherin mean?

A quiet chuckle shook the boy's frame. "You are the hero to Voldermort's villain. It's very fairy tale and cliché, but you are not the only prophecy child in the world. Ever wonder why _no one else_ has really come to your plight? Other than the other European countries, which are very close, has anyone offered to help? America? Canada? Australia? China? No, they haven't, they have their own terrorist and insane megalomaniacs to deal with."

It made sense…in a twisted way. "Then why are you here?"

"To save you."

"Save me? From what?"

"The stupidity of the United Kingdom's branch of the wizarding world. I mean seriously, traditions are cool and everything but we're like two years away from the new millennia. This isn't exactly the medieval era where good _has_ to triumphant over evil. The magic here isn't balanced at all. It's at one extreme then another. Voldermort and Dumbledore are killing the magic here."

"You're talking about the various shades of grey in the world," Harry finally said.

Gold eyes lit up. "Glad I'm not talking to an idiot."

"Light cannot function without dark," Harry sighed, "I _know_ this."

"It's the basic concept of yin and yang. A cycle if you will," the Slytherin smile moving his left hand in a circle. "Eastern magic relies on this concept. Although, they can be just as prejudice as anyone else, being very traditional and all."

"Still the sins my world are immoral. It truly is killing itself," Harry mourned.

"The leaders of the war the ones killing the magic here," the other comforted. "That's why I've come to save you. I was sent here by a secret organization specially designed to _save_ the _saviors_. If you want I can help you disappear like I have with various others."

"Running away?" Harry scoffed.

A dark eyebrow raised. "Didn't you suggest it to your lover? Leave the vices of this world behind? Finding happiness by abandoning your destiny?"

Harry's face crumpled into one of misery. "He didn't love me enough…and…I didn't either. We couldn't stand by each other because of our views."

"Love is a fickle emotion," the Slytherin said carelessly. "You really should not cry over him. I honestly thought running away and building a new life somewhere else would have done the pale moron some good."

Narrowing his eyes at the other boy, Harry scowled. "How do you know so much about me?"

Sighing, he replied, "Seer."

"Oh."

"So anyway, what is your choice? Kill or be killed? Or running away? Declaring to all that this is the problem of adults and government. Although the adults here a questionable. I mean seriously an old, senile man; an insane, domineering man and various others with various issues and complexes."

Harry had to laugh at that. The boy was entertaining to say the least. However, he sobered up quickly.

"How do I know I'm making the right choice?"

Rolling his eyes, the other sought to assure him. "You don't know." Not exactly reassuring. "The past comes back to bite you in the ass sometimes. Take Snape for example. The man is a double-agent working for both powers in this poker game."

"I know he's a spy and trying to repent for a bad choice in his teen years," Harry said with disdain. "But he still is a dark wizard."

"But a good man."

"If you can classify him as a _man_."

"But a good man nonetheless. He _has_ saved you on several occasions when he didn't really need to, after all he paid the debt he owed your bully of a father," the Slytherin chastised. "Although… he isn't exactly a _nice_ man."

He snorted at that. The Slytherin had a point. "Of course he isn't. He's an arsehole."

"And that is something we all have to live with. His general bastard persona has kept him alive amongst he poor choices in associates. But then again, the mask tells more than the face (1), be sure to remember that."

The sun hit them in the alcove and Harry could see the other fully. The Slytherin looked almost angelic.

"So," Harry began, "If I said I wanted to run, where would that leave me?"

"Well, you could either become an agent like me or create a new identity for yourself," he responded, "This is actually my last assignment before I resign my position."

"And where will you go?"

"Me? Probably to the city. Most likely L.A."

"Why there?"

A wryly smirk made it's way onto the handsome face. "Why? Well, it's the City of Lost Angels for one thing. That if the apocalypse is going to happen, it's most likely to happen there."

A smirk of his own bloomed. "Then I want to go with you. For some reason, you seemed to be the only person who understands what it's like to be a reluctant hero."

"Like I said, you aren't the only destiny child out there. I was one too. We, heroes like you and I, are tools and weapons. We are loved falsely for our destinies and hated when we show anything other than perfection. It's entirely too bittersweet."

Suddenly, the kid flung something at Harry that glinted in the sunlight before he caught it. It was a silver necklace with an adoring set of angel wings as a pendent. "It's a portkey. It is programmed to take you to my home in outside L.A. exactly at noon, the same time Voldermort plans to attack."

"Does anyone know of the attack?" Harry questioned, clasping the necklace on.

"Aside from me and you? No, not even the inner circle has been informed."

"What is your plan?"

The wicked grin told Harry to keep his wand out during the ceremony.

"Those Weasley twins have something going with those fireworks, but nothing beats the traditional _Black Cat_ firecracker. I will be the main _dis_traction, you focus on getting away," the Slytherin instructed, "If your lover decides to drop in before noon, I want you to voice activate that portkey with the phrase, '_I'm no hero._' It will override the default time spell and automatically take you away, so make sure to pack everything."

Harry gave the other a jaded smile. "Thanks I guess."

"No need, all apart of the job," he replied loftily with a kind smile. "By the way, the name is Celph (2)." And with one final smirk, he left the alcove and Harry behind.

The Gryffindor looked at the pendent and snorted at it's irony. "I think I just found one of those '_Lost Angels._'"

* * *

_11:55:00_

Five minutes until noon.

Harry wrung his hands together nervously. _'Am I making a mistake? How do I know Celph can be trusted? He is a smooth-talking Slytherin after all…'_

The ceremony was droll and Harry could feel his head lolling back as the last seventh year was called to receive his certificate of graduation.

Perhaps it would have been easier to just kill himself…

No, Harry was sure Celph would have found a way to stop him and his suicidal thoughts. Still, was all this worth it? Running away to start a new life while the people suffered the rage of Tom.

He did not know.

Sighing heavily, Harry sought out the Slytherin who said he would take him _away_ from this magical place. Celph himself was not paying attention. Instead he was bobbing his head like he had a song in it.

And perhaps he did. Harry could never tell with him.

_11:56:01_

Suddenly small explosions started to erupt throughout the Great Hall. Harry did not know what was going on and the teachers looked distressed.

Students were jumping and shrieking in surprise as what seemed like thousands of firecrackers lit themselves and rained on them. Amazingly enough, it only lasted for a second.

'_But nothing beats the traditional Black Cat firecracker…'_

Fuck, this was Celph's doing. When Harry looked up to scan for the other, he noticed he was no longer at the Slytherin table.

_11:56:04_

Haunting piano music swiftly filled the hall and everyone quieted, most in fear, a few others in wonder. The slight tap of a snare drum accompanied the piano allowing for a beat.

The scratch of the synthesized rhythm also echoed, along with sounding of a turntable.

_You know me, I used to get caught up in everyday life  
_

_Tried to make it through my day so I could sleep at night  
_

_Tried to figure out my way through the maze  
_

_Of rights and wrongs, but like you used to say  
_

_Nothing feels like it's really worth it  
_

_Forget perfect, I'm trying not to be worthless  
_

_Since I last saw you I been looking for a purpose  
_

_Well I met this kid who thought like I did  
_

_He had a weird way of looking at it  
_

_This is what he said  
_

Emerald eyes widened as words that struck close to home filled the air.

This was the distraction, he just knew it and Harry recognized the harmonic voice to be Celph. The smooth tenor rang out and everyone's eyes reverted to the stage where the teachers sat immobile with shock. Or was it a spell of the Slytherin's doing?

_Slip out the back before they know you were there  
_

_And at the worst you'll see nobody cares  
_

_Cos you don't wanna be around when it all goes down  
_

_Even heroes know when to be scared  
_

_Slip out the back before they know you were there  
_

_And at the worst you'll see nobody cares  
_

_Cos you don't wanna be around when it all goes down  
_

_Even heroes know when to be scared_

The song was spoken word. Not necessarily rap, but close and so much stronger. Celph was dressed entirely in muggle style and the look was perfect for the performer.

Gold eyes stared right at him as his mouth moved and spoke into the muggle microphone. Then the lights doused themselves and a spotlight lit the boy up as he prowled the stage giving his message.

_Now I don't remember where I met him or remember his name  
_

_But he walked funny like he was just too big for his frame  
_

_Just over five foot but he weighed a buck fifty  
_

_And what he said just seemed so right it stuck with me  
_

_Listen its like poker you can play your best  
_

_But you got to know when to fold your cards and take a rest  
_

_And know when to hold your cards and hold your breath  
_

_And hope that nobody else is stacking the deck because  
_

_I don't need to tell you that life isn't fair, it doesn't care  
_

_It arbitrarily cuts off your air, and like you I want someone to say its OKAY  
_

_But in the truest parts of our hearts everybody's afraid  
_

_But just underappreciated and overwhelmed  
_

_Fighting so hard to hide our fear that were scaring ourselves  
_

_You understand when I'm saying that you always did  
_

_But its different in the words of a cowardly kid_

The words become even stronger and held the tone of conviction. The music become louder as the melodic voices of a choir and the sadden strings of violins accompanied Celph as he practically snarled out the words, his gold eyes flashing in justified anger.

_Slip out the back before they know you were there  
_

_And at the worst you'll see nobody cares  
_

_Cos you don't wanna be around when it all goes down  
_

_Even heroes know when to be scared  
_

_Slip out the back before they know you were there  
_

_And at the worst you'll see nobody cares  
_

_Cos you don't wanna be around when it all goes down  
_

_Even heroes know when to be scared_

Harry's eyes widen at the power that radiated off the boy on stage. Now Harry believed what he said about not being the only prophecy child.

He himself knew he surpassed Dumbledore and possibly Tom too. Celph was powerful yes, but not as powerful as him. However, the boy was able to project it wonderfully, his confidence was almost unsurpassable. Harry knew it was probably best to go with this boy. He knew he could learn a lot more from the charismatic American.

Then Harry heard his cue to leave. The darkness that shrouded the hall would give him excellent cover.

_I'm no hero, you remember how I was, you know  
_

_All I ever did was worry, feeling out of control  
_

_To the point where everything was going end over end  
_

_I'm spinning around in circles again  
_

_This is where you come in  
_

_All of this to explain to you why  
_

_I had to separate myself away from yesterday's life  
_

_Please remember this isn't how I hoped it would be  
_

_But I had to protect you from me  
_

_That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there  
_

_I know you felt unprepared  
_

_But every single time I was around I just bring you down  
_

_And I could tell that it was time to be scared  
_

_That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there  
_

_And I know the way I left wasn't fair  
_

_I didn't want to be around just to bring you down  
_

_I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care_

The last word resonated throughout the hall and the last few seconds of the song faded out.

Giving one last glance at the stage, Celph just gave him a wink and fireworks exploded causing the same panic the firecrackers did.

The maniacal laughter of the Slytherin rang out and that was his last memory of Hogwarts.

_11:59:59_

The portkey activated one second before noon and tugged him away from all the chaos of the wizarding world.

Harry never saw Tom storm in with his Death Eaters only to witness Celph throw a dagger with deadly accuracy at a magical clone of himself placed directly in front of the Great Hall's doors piercing its heart and causing instant death and blood to spatter all over the shocked Dark Lord.

Nor did he see the celebration of Tom's Death Eaters as the copy crumpled to the floor, blood nearly as dark as night pooling around the body.

Nor did he see Tom viciously kill all his loyal Death Eaters, casting _Avada Kedavra _until there was a sickly green glow residing over the Great Hall.

Nor did he see Tom fall onto the floor and cradle the dead body, babbling how sorry he was and he did love him so much, that he should have ran away.

Nor did he see the students and teachers watch in horror as the scene unfolded and the Darkest Lord the century was seen crying over their supposedly dead savior. They could only sit and watch Voldermort apperate away, taking the body with him to mourn his dead lover.

Nor did he see Celph smirk in satisfaction as he activated his own portkey to escape to where he placed Harry.

* * *

_Eight Years Later_

_Los Angeles, California, USA_

_July 31, 2006_

"Muf moo melf," Harry spat out through his gas mask and glared over his shoulder to his best friend of the last eight years.

"Happy birthday to you too, biyotch," Celph sneered, dropping the new cans of spray paint next to him. "And try not to smear your blood all over this one alright? I really don't feel like explaining to the mediwizard why you have paint all over your slashed wrists, again. Fucking psycho."

Removing his mask and allowing it to hang around his neck and rest on his chest, Harry gave him his own sneer. "That was only one time and you know I was drunk."

"I didn't save you eight years ago only to have you commit suicide because you miss your evil lover," the other shot back.

"Whatever," Harry said flippantly, reaching over to examine the paints the man had given him. "And I rather stay home this year for my birthday. I didn't enjoy my stay at the hospital very much, nor did I enjoy the hours of therapy they made me go through."

"I wasn't planning on taking you anywhere tonight. I was just going to cook dinner for two and help you finish your new project."

"Pfft, you know I never really _finish_ a project. It just gets to the point where it could use more work, but looks fine the way it is."

In eight years time, Harry had become a graffiti artist and a well-known and well-respected one at that.

Celph, upon his retirement, become a successful music producer.

Their L.A. penthouse was filled with Harry's panels of graffiti. Most of his commercial works had a very mecha vibe, but his private collection was very dark. The use of acrylics to make almost formless demons allowed him to express himself and his memories of his darker past.

Celph had encouraged Harry's interest in the arts and was amazed at his talent. He himself enjoyed watching Harry move with finesse over the large panels spraying dark, ominous backgrounds, creating creatures that usually reside only in nightmares battling with one another.

He knew this was Harry healing. The gore of the paintings reflected the pain Harry still felt.

Pain.

Harry still felt it. Leaving his world behind, especially his love.

Celph had told him what he did to ensure his safe passage into his new life. He also held him as he cried, whispering the promise of life becoming better. And it did.

Until Harry got drunk last year on his birthday and tried to commit suicide after staring at a caricature of the final battle he had painted hours before. The same scene he had seen in his nightmares eight years ago.

He had temporarily lost his mind and in a drunken, depressed dazed clumsily grabbed his artist scalpel and slashed both wrists. Unfortunately for his suicidal self, Celph—being a seer and all—burst in just as he lost consciousness.

He was instantly transported to the magical wing of L.A.'s finest hospital where they saved his life. Harry had lost a lot of blood due to the fact his blood had been thinned because of the alcohol. Plus they paint had poisoned him.

Celph had been furious when he came to and as punishment sent him to a psychiatrist. Harry had demanded why he had to talk to some shrink and Celph said, _"Because you obviously can't talk to me. That and I would be bias about your love for Tom. You're my best friend and I'm going to despise anyone who causes you harm, especially if they drive you to suicide! I didn't give you a chance at a new life only to have you end it! Regrets are not going to change the past! YOU ARE GOING!"_

Their friendship grew stronger because of it too.

There were times Harry wanted to forget his love for Tom and fall for Celph. Celph also felt those feelings within Harry.

"_As much as I'd like to fall in love with you Harry, I can't. I love you, yes, but only as a brother. Find someone else who will return your affections because you're destined to be loved. I, however, am not that person."_

For all Harry knew, Celph probably already knew who he was destined for. He always had this knowing smile nowadays, especially when Harry sought the other out for comfort.

"I'm going to start dinner," Celph suddenly said, startling Harry out of his musings, "Should be done in about an hour."

With that, he left with an enigmatic smile. Harry knew there was no use in being suspicious, the other man was always weird and mysterious with mischievous gold eyes.

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Harry stood back and reveled in the power of his piece. It was a familiar scene. It was a pseudo-portrait of Celph. The background was graffiti laden and had pasted on black and white pictures of his friend when he displayed his power. They overlapped each other, a distorted scene behind the main attraction.

Celph was portrayed as the angel Harry proclaimed him to be. Dressed in white with wings sprouting for his back and a microphone in hand. This was going in his gallery showing on Friday.

Then he glanced over to his other recently finished piece. Crimson eyes met his and he couldn't help but shudder.

This one was of Tom, the demon he loved to much. It was a companion piece to Celph's and contrasted the other in sheer darkness. Celph's had lighter colors like silver, light grey, white with the occasional light yellow and baby blue. Tom's dark colors struck the viewer with the concept of evil. It radiated off the panel in dark grey, black and blood red. It was a nightmare in itself and it haunted Harry.

Shivering, he threw a tarp over it and went to clean up.

Little did he know, the nightmare would soon manifest itself again.

* * *

"Shouldn't you be mingling," Celph smirked as he stood swivel hip next to him, "I mean they are here for you." 

"I'd rather not be cooed over," he in turn spat, sulkily sipping his gin and tonic, "The art should speak for itself. Everyone should find their own interpretation and translate it to seem fit. That and I hate these gallery showings you make me do."

"I hardly make you do anything Harry," his friend chastised lightly, "So do not blame me. Or whine, it's annoying."

So Harry settled for a glare. "You know you talked me into this. You use that reverse psychology shit to get your way. You've always had a habit of doing so you smooth talker, even when we first met."

Shrugging carelessly, Celph grabbed a glass of champagne as a waiter passed. "My associates wanted to view your works. A lot of musicians have heard of you but have not seen too much of your work. This showing will probably give your more notoriety as being a bad ass artist and possibly more commissions."

"Please," Harry scoffed, "I can hardly see myself producing art at command. I work for myself and only myself and if I choose to sell a piece after six months of growing to hate it you usually do it for me. These people don't even _know_ I'm the artist. They all think I'm your fuck-buddy."

"You've become crude in the last eight years Harry."

"No thanks to you."

"But you're right, these people do not know who you are nor do they know your face. You're famous for your skill and people love it, plus they think your alias is deep."

"Foolish," Harry mocked, "It's hardly deep. It was randomly chosen when I saw it in the dictionary. _Wynter_ is not deep at all. It's my favorite season and spelt with a 'y.'"

"Most see it as a reflection of your changeable moods, like winter can be. It can be peaceful, filled with happy children making snow angels and drinking hot coco. Or it can be harsh, chilling, and deadly," Celph reiterated.

"Still, it's foolish."

"I'm sure."

Sneering at his friend, Harry brooded over his gallery showing. He really did not want to be here anymore.

"I like your new ones," Celph commented after their moment of silence. And judging by the crowd that flocked to them, they did too. "Your interpretation of yin and yang is very unique."

"Hardly," Harry snorted, brushing off the compliment, "It's once again me living in my past. Light versus dark, good versus evil. You're my guardian angel, Tom is my inner demon."

Harry could see Celph trying not to smirk. "You're eventually going to have to get rid of that particular skeleton in your closet."

"Whatever," he replied nonchalantly. "Anyway, I'm going to book it to the back studio to hide for awhile. Everything is for sale except for the yin and yang panels."

"Yeah, yeah. I removed all sharp objects from your kits though. I really don't need a dead body right now." A smirk on his lips, Celph bent a bit to kiss Harry's cheek in parting, much affection in the gold eyes.

Snorting, Harry left his friend's side and headed directly to the back studio.

He never noticed someone following his form with disbelief in their eyes.

Finally he was alone. Harry stripped to his boxers and folded his designer clothes to store them in his cubby. He replaced his clothing with a white tee and worn, paint splattered jeans. Slipping on old _Converse_ he grabbed his mask, grabbed a bucket of black paint and a roller, and proceeded to paint the entire panel black.

His mood was morbid and this piece would reflect that. Harry usually didn't use magic when painting but he needed the paint dry so a quick burst of heated air swirled around the panel to dry it. He smirked a little, thank Merlin for wandless.

Taking a paint brush, he dripped it into a can of 60 grey paint. The hue was dark but not as much as the solid black. Harry whipped the brush out and it spattered and sprayed over the panel. The process repeated over and over again with various shades of gray until Harry dried it with another spell.

Picking up a can of white spray paint, he shook it vigorously and popped the cap off. With the precision of a pencil, he sketched out an outline of 3D blocks giving the affect that they were jutting out from the dark panel.

Going up and down the board, he sprayed and shaded until the objects looked almost real. No runs, just perfect shapes.

Reaching for another a light grey spray can, he dropped it as a voice washed over him in the empty room.

"You're very good at that," the voice, a male voice, commented. He sounded strangled and Harry wondered why. But it was no matter, he was not suppose to be in the back studio.

"Get the fuck out," Harry snarled, turning around sharply to glare at the intruder. But instead gasped in horror at the man in front of him.

"Oh fucking hell."

It was Tom. Tom Riddle was standing not ten feet away from him with a face of disbelief but Harry could tell he was also happy from seeing him alive.

"Hello Harry," Tom greeted his tone slightly strained, "It's good to see you alive."

"_Oh fucking hell!_"

Harry could not say anything but that. He had been discovered. Tom knew he was alive and was going to fly from happy to furious at being deceived for eight years. Tom was going to kill him himself now.

Backing away swiftly, Harry forgot about the numerous cans of spray paint and managed to trip and stumble backward into the panel. Without thinking, he grabbed the closest can of paint and held it up ready to spray. "Stay back Tom," he whimpered in panic. Harry was pretty sure if Tom came too close he could get the paint in his eyes and make a break for it.

As predicted the disbelief was replaced with fury. "You faked your death and left me alone for eight years?"

"You were going to kill me anyway!"

"I was going to _temporarily_ _incapacitate_ you, not _kill_ you!"

"Yes, yes you were going to kill me," Harry breathed out, trying to relax himself. It wasn't working. He was prepared to fight or take flight.

Crimson eyes flashed. Tom looked hurt. "I would never kill you."

"You sure made a big deal about me standing in your way then. You made it seem like you would kill me if I tried to stop your quest for world domination," Harry laughed nervously, can still poised."

"Damn it Harry!"

"And how the fuck do I know you haven't tried to take over again? I know you killed your Death Eaters in a rage, but that doesn't mean a thing. You could still have your legions of evil doers and—"

"HARRY!"

"NO! You might have loved me, but it wasn't enough!"

"It was always enough!"

Both stood tense, glaring heated at the other. "This has to be another nightmare," Harry muttered.

Tom gave him a withering glare. "Would you put that muggle contraption down and talk to me."

"This is _another_ fucking nightmare. I have to get Celph…"

The reddest of eyes cut into him just as sharply as the knife that almost took his life. "That bastard is the one who took you away isn't he?"

"What of it? He saved me from a fate I never wanted and a man who didn't love me enough," Harry spat.

"You Son of a whore! You ran away with some American bastard just because I wanted something—"

"Don't you _dare_ call Celph a bastard!" Harry bellowed, forgoing his original plan to spray Tom and throwing it at him instead. "All I wanted was _you_ but I wasn't enough for you. You wanted me to give up my life, you wanted me to rule by your side, _and you_ wanted everything! _I WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU!_

"You killed my parents and I still loved you! You killed Cedric and I still loved you! Your Death Eater killed what was left of my family and my parents and I still _fucking loved you!_ All I wanted was you and a life away from death and destruction because I knew eventually, I would kill for you. I would break some poor bastard's neck with my bare hands for failing you and I would enjoy it. I would _enjoy_ killing!"

Tears streamed down his face and his emerald eyes filled with pain and longing. "I wanted peace, but I knew I could bring chaos. I knew I would sell my soul to the devil if only to please you, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Why wasn't I enough? Why couldn't you just have me and be happy?"

Fatigued from the on slot the of raw emotion that surfaced, Harry feel to his knees and hands and sobbed. "Celph should have just let me die…"

Tom was quiet and stunned. "Harry…"

"They told me I was to be a hero, but I'm nothing more than a coward. I'm no hero…I'm no hero…"

"Yes you are," Tom stated causing Harry's head to snap up and gaze at him. "I told Dumbledore everything. How you made me feel love, how I felt myself change and want to become a better person. I admit I wanted to rule, but only because I was scared. That if you won, they would force you to kill me and shatter your soul. That you would become something similar to what I was before I feel in love with you. You were hail a hero upon your 'death' and I left Europe."

"Well, isn't that just peach keen," Harry spat sarcastically. "It all could have been avoided if you were such a jackarse."

The tears slowed and stopped, but Harry remained on the ground. He just wanted to curl up and die. "Celph should have just let me die…"

"Die? Why would you want to die?" Tom made to walk over to him but Harry hissed a warning.

"_Back off!"_

"Then tell me why you wanted to die," he questioned harshly.

"Because I'm a depressed psycho with suicidal tendencies who had issues with his ex-lover wanting to take over the world," Harry replied with a bitter laugh, "That and I have nightmares of me killing most of the people I went to Hogwarts with. I snap their necks, bath in their blood and have vampire orgies with you and zombie Death Eaters."

"You never told me that Harry," a new person said with a mirthless laugh. It was Celph. His gold gaze cutting sharply through Tom before he went to bend by his side. "I think I should call your shrink again."

At the sight of Celph's frown Harry scowled. "I'm fine. I hardly need another six months of therapy and them asking me 'And how does that make you feel?' bullshit."

"I demand to know why you want to die," Tom demanded, pissed that Harry was ignoring him in favor of some poncy American prick.

"I tried to kill myself last year because I missed your stupid arse," he replied cruelly, "I slit my wrists and watched as the blood flowed out my body. I wanted to seek oblivion but this guy stopped me."

"It's my hero complex," Celph said cheekily. "Anyway, up up!"

Allowing his friend to haul him up, Harry clung onto Celph like a lifeline. He could see Tom's hatred of the dark-skinned man in his crimson eyes. It was scary.

"Celph, I want to go home," Harry murmured feeling much older than he was.

Growling viciously, Tom stood menacingly between them and the door. "You're not leaving until I can talk to you _without_ your little friend."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you," Harry retorted.

"Harry…" Tom breathed out his name relenting, "Please love."

"Don't you dare call me that!" His eyes blazed with fury at the mockery of the name Tom had called him in the past. "You have no right."

"I have every right because I still love you," Tom continued a determined look in his handsome face.

"Don't delude yourself." Harry felt he had to protect his heart, even if it meant breaking it further.

Celph finally spoke, his tone icy but only because the ex-Dark Lord was in the room. "Perhaps you should speak with him Harry. It might give you closure if anything."

Tom almost had a thankful look on his face, if it had not been marred with the overtones of disdain. His friend scowled at the older man. "Do not think I am doing this for you. I'm doing this for Harry. He's been a wreck and I want to help him heal even if it means seeing you again."

"You're hardly his keeper," Tom spat out.

A growl rumbled from deep within Celph. "No, I'm his _protector_ and I will do my job until the day I know he does not need me anymore."

Narrowing his eyes, Tom shifted into a much more dominating stance. Harry knew he was challenging Celph but the man holding him was never one to ever back down from a challenge. "And if you do _anything_ to hurt Harry I will hunt you down and banish you to the deepest depths of Hell."

Sneering at him, Tom gave a cruel, mocking laugh. "I doubt it."

The insult hardly fazed Celph and Harry watched has his friend gave his ex-lover a feral grin, one that promised pain. "Like I told Harry eight years ago, he's not the only prophecy child with extraordinary powers. Watch yourself."

"Celph," Harry sighed gratefully. He gave his friend a small smile before it fell and with a neutral voice agreed to talk to Tom. "I'll speak with you only because he says it will most likely help. Other than that, I don't see us fixing enough of our past to continue anything in the future."

Giving him a hurt smile, Tom nodded. "Alright. We'll just talk for now."

* * *

_One Year Later_

"_Slip out the back before they know you were there…"_

The familiar lyrics rang out from the stereo as Harry scribbled the words onto his latest piece. It was a montage of fallen heroes. It was morbid and saddening.

The collage of war pictures showed soldiers dying or dead. It was a protest to all fighting and destruction.

"_And at the worst you'll see nobody cares…"_

Harry smiled as Celph's voice washed over him. He missed his friend and their time together, but it was time for him to move on with his life and stand on his own two feet. Not that that meant Celph didn't stop by to harass him every once and awhile.

Smirking as he wrote, Harry knew this art would be very controversial, after all the muggle government was at war. But those where not his reasons for making it. This piece was his final nightmare piece. This was his wound finally healing over leaving nothing more than a faint scar.

He hadn't tried to kill himself again, much to Celph and Tom's relief. However, he had been depressed over the few months he and Tom were reconciling their various issues.

Thankfully Harry had his art to comfort him during this time. Although most were dark and foreboding. Surprisingly he sold most of those to rich collectors with a taste for the sinister. He was being featured in modern museums now, and one of his large panels sold over a million in American dollars.

At this point in his life, he couldn't be happier.

"Harry, Celph wanted to know if we wanted to join him for dinner tonight."

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry snorted. "No. Tell that bastard that he can not just buy me dinner to make up for the fact he volunteered me to work with some arrogant poser who has the talent of a five-year-old."

Strong arms wrapped around his small frame and gently pulled him from his work. "You can finish that later."

"You're horny aren't you," Harry questioned with a teasing laugh. Turing in the arm, Harry came face to face with Tom. "Mmh, are you horny love?"

"Oh yes," Tom rumbled lowly, "very."

It had taken them months to get this close. After their initial talks of what happened after Harry disappeared, he avoided Tom like the plague. Of course, Tom pursued him like he had in the past. Constantly showing up at his and Celph's penthouse. Sending him flowers and other expensive gifts. At one point Tom bought him a snow white kitten which he promptly named Pure.

It had taken four months of Tom relentless stalking before he caved in and agreed to go on a date. Although it had to be in broad daylight, in a crowded area, and near the police station. Tom was not amused. Celph found it hilarious.

However, despite his 'affectionate following,' Tom was trying to take it slow once the dating process begun.

One date become two. Two dates became four and so on. Two months later Harry was ready to be with Tom again but he was still worried he would chase Harry away.

It was one particular night when they went to one of the galas Celph organized; Harry decided he was ready to jump some bones. He had been celibate for eight, almost nine, years and he wanted to be fucked to hard he's forget his name. Tom however was being a gentleman.

Fed up with Tom, Harry proceeded to give him many colorful, fruit drinks filled with alcohol. A lot of alcohol. With inhibitions lowered, Tom was a bit more touchy-feely, but Tom had always had 'Greek hands' when he was drunk. He was also a possessive drunk, which played into Harry's plan to get him into bed.

He was desperate, so sue him.

Harry then proceeded to flirt with various men and dance with a few others. The final straw was when he and Celph were dancing the tango. Being a seer, his friend knew exactly what he was doing and decided he would help. Of course help in Celph's vocabulary was dipping Harry and frenching him in the middle of the dance floor under a spot light.

Tom was even less amused with that.

Harry didn't know what hit him until he was at Tom's condo with his back on a king size bed and forest green silk sheets. Stripped naked without so much as a warning, Tom fore went foreplay and went straight for the prize. Harry was fucked so hard he blacked-out due to the power of his orgasm.

They had been together ever since and two months ago he and Tom moved into a spacious home in L.A.'s suburbs.

Everything was as perfect as two dysfunctional wizards could make it. They argued sometimes because no one is perfect, but they made up quickly so Harry never felt insecure about their relationship.

Also, no one from his past knew he was still alive. Harry planned to keep it that way because he didn't want to be famous for being a hero, an artist yes, but not a hero. For he was no hero. He was just a man who loved darkness.

"Take me lover," Harry murmured as he pressed his lips onto Tom's.

Without words, Tom did just that. Desperate to feel Harry's skin, he ripped away the smock Harry had on to reveal smooth, unmarred, golden skin. Running his hands over the warm flesh of his lover, Tom dipped his head to latch onto a nipple to suck.

Harry groaned and arched into the suckling mouth. Knees feeling weak, Harry pulled Tom down with him onto his studio floor. With a feral growl, Harry ripped Tom's button down shirt open, causing the buttons to fly everywhere.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry gasped as a hand shoved itself down his sweat pants and grasped his arousal. "I want it hard Tom…so hard!"

Clothes flew every which way and soon Harry's legs were splayed with Tom pounding into his hole.

"_I'm not a hero…"_

The music continued to play as they climaxed spewing their essence in and on them both.

A dreamy smile made its way onto Harry's lips as he wrapped his arms around the man on top of him. It was a happy ending for him despite the fact he didn't believe in cliché fairy tales. He was just happy he was not a hero, because they didn't fall in love with their villain.

Then again, Harry never did follow the rules.

"_I'm no hero…"_

* * *

_End_

* * *

(1) : Oscar Wilde quote 

(2) : Name of a rapper off the _Fort Minor _album, track 15. Full name is Celph Titled


End file.
